


scenes from an italian restaurant

by ohjustpeachy



Series: Tony Stark Bingo Fills [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Restaurants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustpeachy/pseuds/ohjustpeachy
Summary: Steve gets back from a mission, and they go to dinner.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Tony Stark Bingo Fills [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601260
Comments: 21
Kudos: 130
Collections: Tony Stark Bingo 2020





	scenes from an italian restaurant

**Author's Note:**

> for the free space (A3) for my tony stark bingo card (#3049)

They don’t always have a drink with dinner, but if they’re coming off the tail end of a particularly stressful week, or if it’s a special occasion, they’ll split a bottle of wine. Steve usually lets Tony take the lead on this, though he’s found some favorites over the years. He knows, for example, that he likes it on the drier side, nothing too sweet, and that he prefers red to white. 

Tony already knows what he likes, has for years now, since Howard introduced him to wine at a dinner party when he was fourteen. _It tastes better with you,_ Tony often tells Steve. It should sound silly, like a line, but Steve knows he means it, he’s always meant it. They’ve been through too much together for lines and come ons.

The waiters know their names by now. Tonight it’s Joseph who sidles up to their table, a smile on his face and a lilt in his voice. 

_Anthony, Steven, it’s lovely to see you tonight! Shall we start with a bottle of red?_

Somehow, Anthony and Steven feel like different people, identities they slip into when they’re out alone together on a night like this. Tonight, Tony meets Steve’s eye and nods, agreeing to the wine. Tonight it’s Friday, and they’ve been apart for the better part of a week. Steve revels in the soft, contented smile Tony sends him from across the table. _Welcome home. I missed you. I love you._ His smile says it all, and yet, Steve knows Tony’s mouth will say more in a matter of hours, tracing lines and promises over goosebumped skin. 

Now, Tony’s smile lingers at his lips and his foot finds Steve’s beneath the table, hooking their ankles together.

_So, how was it?_

And Steve will answer honestly. Tell Tony that it wasn’t so bad, explain that the new recruits are doing wonderfully, confess that _he missed him, he missed him, he missed him._

In the end, the details of the mission matter less than the fact that he’s home.

_**Aperitivo** _

The waiter brings the wine, two glasses, and asks Tony to make sure it’s alright, as if they haven’t had it more times than any of them can count. He presents them with a basket of bread, and asks if there’s anything else they need just now. 

Another quiet look, a nod across the table. 

_A little something for the table,_ Joseph repeats with a nod before vanishing into the kitchen. 

It’s quiet for a Friday night, couples keeping to themselves while soft, ambient music swirls around them, the scent of garlic permeating the air. It smells familiar, warm bread and homemade sauce, and Tony leans over and places a hand over Steve’s, just for a moment, before lifting his glass to Steve’s, clinking them together. 

_Cheers. Welcome home, darling._

_I missed you so much._

Steve asks about Tony’s week between bites of bread and cheese and sips of wine. Meetings, helping Peter with college applications, and checking the time far too often, wondering when Steve would be back. Steve reaches over, laying his hand over Tony’s and leaving it there this time, warm and heavy. The serum stops the wine from doing anything to him, but it still manages to bring him a certain warmth; everything seems to glow a little brighter, time seems to slow. It’s probably all in his head, probably just Tony, and the ease of being here together again, in their favorite place. It’s a lovely feeling nonetheless. 

There’s only one round wedge of mozzarella left, and Tony spears it with his fork, lifts it, and holds it out for Steve to eat. They look like teenagers, Steve’s sure of it, but he can’t bring himself to care. He pops the cheese into his mouth and smiles. 

_Gentlemen, have we decided on a main course?_

_**Entrata** _

_Predictable_ , Tony grins when Steve orders chicken Parmesan. 

_Like you’re any better?_ Steve nods at Tony’s steaming plate of pasta, and Tony shakes his head. They _are_ predictable, both of them, at least when it comes to what they like. Steve doesn’t say anything, just cuts a piece of his chicken and places it carefully on Tony’s plate, then makes room for the spoonful of pasta Tony sends his way. 

Tony pours them each more wine, then takes a careful bite of pasta. _Incredible. I think it gets better every time, Steven. Like you. It gets better with age._ Tony says this with an ostentatious wink that makes Steve laugh into his napkin. 

_Worth waiting one hundred years for_ , Tony says, eyes going soft, glowing in the dim restaurant lighting and making Steve feel like his insides have been replaced with a swarm of bees, all of him buzzing, trembling. It’s been years and Tony still has that effect on him. 

Steve swallows, takes a sip of his wine, tries to quell the buzz. _You’re not so bad yourself,_ he counters. The way Tony’s looking at him right now, amused and fond and so _happy_ , makes Steve feel crazed, like he’s capable of saying and doing anything.

_We could eat the same meal for a hundred more years and I wouldn’t get tired of it, as long as you’re here,_ Steve continues.

_Why don’t we, then?_ Tony eyebrows lift. _Every night, forever._

Steve’s heart pounds in his chest as he meets Tony’s eye, where he finds the same honeyed-whiskey warmth he’s long associated with _home_. 

_Are you asking—_

_Dinner, you and me. ...For as long as we both shall live._ Steve’s fairly sure Tony’s never looked as happy as he does right now, these words leaving his mouth. 

_Yes_. Steve’s certain he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. _Yes_. 

Tony beams. 

_**Dolce** _

_I already have something sweet,_ Tony murmurs, smiling down at their joined hands. _But I think … tiramisu to go never hurt anyone, did it? We’re celebrating, after all._

Steve laughs, because the best part of the meal is always dessert, shared on the couch, or, sometimes, in bed. He has a feeling tonight will be the latter. He follows Tony’s gaze down to their hands. He can already picture the rings, brushed gold and shining, telling the world _this one’s mine._

_*_

They do eat it in bed together, hours later. _Who would ever eat dessert in a restaurant?_ Tony muses, kissing Steve sweetly. He tastes like cinnamon and cream and Steve wants to bottle this moment, this feeling, never let it go. 

_Heathens._

_Exactly._

_I can’t believe you asked me to marry you over dinner._

_Really?_

_Well, yes, I guess I can. It was perfect._

_I owe you a ring._

_I owe_ you _a ring._

Tony laughs, nuzzling his face into Steve’s shoulder, tiramisu forgotten. 

_I love you. And hey, welcome home, Steve._

**Author's Note:**

> i'm omg-just-peachy on tumblr


End file.
